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Let’s go to the Cappuccino Coast

Where the ocean gets churned and frothy,

To the cliffs of Mexico plains of Africa,

Let’s build a fjord of the Tigris and Euphrates

To find the real Eden.

Let us float through villages of boats

Have our eyes struck dumb by the Himalayas 

And their persistence in sky climbing,

Grab our shovels and find chariot wheels

At the bottom of dried up sea beds.

We can travel the earth with our tongues

Taste every nation’s bread

Lets resurrect ancient dialects

That were stolen and now are dead.

We can face and defeat all sharks and spiders

Just to prove we’ve mastered fear,

But after let us just come right back here.

To the creaky steps and torn up carpet,

The windows that need mending

And laundry never ending.

Let’s do it all and see everything

Just to know in our heads 

What our hearts already clutch

That waking up next to you

Is the real adventure

The truest bliss I’ve known

Is the shiver from your touch.

- Vagabond Prophet


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We Will Meet Again

One day,

As I’m walking through the sunflower fields,

I saw a figure in the distance,

As I walk closer towards the figure,

I realize this figure is very formillar,

This figure is my dad,


Oh daddy, I’ve missed you so badly,

I reach out for him,

Daddy take my hand and come with me,

But he starts to drift away,

No please, please come back,

We’ve already lost so much time together,

But then he tells me,

My child, we will meet again,

I promise,

Until then, just know I love you so much, and I am so proud of you baby girl,

I see how strong you’ve gotten,

You have blossomed into this incredible woman, and I couldn’t be prouder,

Do not be sad, for I am your dad,

And that will never change,

I will always be here for you my child,


Alas, he floated away into the skies,

And I feel to my knees and cried,

But then, more sunflowers appear where he was standing for a brief moment,

A gift from him because he knows I love sunflowers,

But it was only a brief moment with him,

A brief moment I wish would last forever,

A brief moment that I wish would happen more frequently,

I try to dry my tears, but they just keep flowing,

All I can do is whisper to myself the words daddy told me,

We will meet again.

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It has almost been four months of this
giggling stomach and the paralyzing need
to tell you. I look at you, but you don’t look back at me
it doesn’t matter, I have built
my own Aeneid— mourning fields
for me to spend my afternoons in, lacking sleep
howling at the moon so silently / my chest
is saying all the things my mouth won’t dare
my lungs will be the death of me

I picture this winter like the insides of a ruby
flaming red and warm for us, outside
this city is shivering cold. People who are not in love
can see their breath when they blow
two degrees and so alone / instead
we’re looking at the morning sky from this nonexistent
balcony, windowsill— A cup
of earl grey tea and your daily coffee sitting next to
the cigarettes we sworn our mums we wouldn’t smoke

I think I formed this in a dream, I’ve been
thinking too much about your lips
and your voice— your coffee is now long cold
and my nails are turning plum from this winter chill
I’m all alone, and my windowsill is too small
for anyone to have breakfast in

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“You arise from the flames
as if a divinity: placed
in my life to burn me
(I don’t complain) eyes
burning red and brown
hands so strong that could leave me
breatheless, I drown 
in your smell, oh goddess
of crushed pearls and bright rubies
and earthly temtations
kiss me again, please
melt this frozen skin to rose water
and drink it”

(Untitled, june 18th, 2019)

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The words run dry

And the poems go away

As life takes hold

And day runs into day.

I want to be that person

But I don’t want to live that way

So I let the poems run dry

And day run into day.


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He said: “Strange! Huh?! Even after spending a whole lifetime with her, you (I) still can’t fully comprehend/understand her”

She replied: “Why do you want to know her fully ? Huh?

Why do you want to know everything?

Why can’t you discover/unravel something new in her each day and find her more attractive day by day?”

And It was never the same !!!


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“You’re beautiful when you smile”, he said. His eyes lingered on her face as though trying to capture all of her in his mind. Dark strands fell into a storm of waves, framing her face in a picturesque of total mess and beauty as she shook her head and met his gazes.


“No. I am beautiful when I break.”, she replied. “When trapped in a desert with my demons, and my pieces try to turn the place over for an oasis, I feel beautiful. People miss that all the time. How well my suppressed cries rhyme with the sound of my bones rapidly breaking, brittle as an eggshell. How I cast my fury with the sand storm, burn the arid ground with my heated glances also add up to things that make me beautiful.


It’s a sight to behold but people don’t look at those things. No one wants to look at cracks and creases and wounds and bruises. And I am made of those. People want perfection and a single flaw is enough to distort an image; dismiss it as hideous and unworthy. Much more a woman of shattered pieces bleeding ceaselessly.


No, I don’t think I am beautiful when I smile so mystically like my lips has been bestowed an honor to be touched by the tip of Da Vinci’s brush. I am not beautiful when my eyes glisten with the galaxies as a ray of sunshine pass through them in a microsecond. Too fast that it seems surreal, like the glow never reached the soul hidden behind the twinkling retinas. I am not beautiful when I walk so gently, my movements jive perfectly with my chiffon dress in a dance that makes a poet wants to immortalize me with the daffodils. Even as a puff of zephyr brushes my hair, and my cheeks flush color that matches the splendid sunset, I am far from beautiful. Never at that faint shimmer of perfection.


I am not beautiful with those moments heightened with incredible mirth. For when toned down, I can’t even hear an echo or see a print. Moments like those are evanescent, and what I have will never commensurate with them in any way. I prefer to linger and agonize with infinite time.


No. I am not beautiful when I smile. I am not beautiful when you look at all the angles that frame my face. Perfection evades me like chances fleeting with the hand of the clock. I am beautiful in my chaos, in my cracks, in my private grief. I am beautiful in places no one ever dare to look. And that, my friend is the reason why even if you are beholding me right now, everything else is vague and you’re not really seeing me. Not at all. ”


-Beautiful in places no one dares to look,

Katie, 22:00

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